


Ready

by orphan_account



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-20
Updated: 2011-03-20
Packaged: 2017-10-17 04:05:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/172712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night Brian and Justin decide to get married is a night like any other. Max!fic</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ready

The night Brian and Justin decide to get married is a night like any other.

Dim lights in the living room. Television on the Discovery Channel. Brian eating lo mein on the couch as he flips through a magazine, checking out the competition. Justin is on the floor, carton of General Tso’s chicken by his side, drawing a picture of a tyrannosaurus rex for Max to color.

“He gots little ahms,” Max says, pointing to the tiny T-Rex arms with his marker-stained finger.

“Arrrrrms,” Justin says. “Practice using your R’s.”

Max shakes his head. “I not.”

Brian chuckles and closes his magazine. Tosses it onto the coffee table. He turns the television channel to something less stupid, less scientific and more violent, and stretches out on the couch.

It’s eight-thirty on a Tuesday night in the middle of winter…where it gets dark at six and the wind is constantly blowing tiny snowflakes. There’s a fire in the fireplace and Max is dressed in his red and white striped pajamas, the ones with the rubber-bottomed feet that squeak when he runs on the hardwoods.

Justin finishes up Max’s drawing and hands it to him along with a plastic baggie filled with jumbo-sized crayons. Grabs his chicken and chopsticks and stands. He walks over to the couch, sits down and reclines with Brian, leaning his head on his shoulder.

Justin smells like Chinese food and stale cologne. Hands smell like Max’s bubble bath. Brian kisses his brow.

~*~

The night Brian and Justin decide to get married, Max sleeps in their bed.

“He better grow soon,” Brian says, looking at Max asleep on the mattress. Max is short for a three-year-old…in the 23rd percentile and looks two, maybe. Can pass for two as long as he refrains from sharing dinosaur trivia.

Justin smiles fondly and changes into shorts and a T-shirt. Climbs in bed and snuggles up to Max, who’s curled on his side and sucking his thumb.

Brian switches off the lamp and joins them. It’s almost midnight and the room glows from the full moon.

“You tired?” Justin asks. He reaches over to place a hand on Brian’s bare shoulder.

Tired, yes, but Brian’s never really sleepy. He sucks his teeth and says nothing.

“I don’t want to go to work tomorrow.”

“Then don’t go.”

Justin exhales loudly. “I have to.” He runs his fingers down Brian’s arm until he’s at his wrist, then his hand. Slides his fingers into the spaces between Brian’s and squeezes. His arm rests across Max, elbow accidentally stirring him.

Max makes a peeping whimper. Shifts.

“Shh-shh-shh,” Justin whispers. Soothing.

~*~

The night Brian and Justin decide to get married, they have sex. Good sex.

Justin ends up on Brian’s side of the bed by one. They can’t sleep, so they kiss instead. Tame, they have to keep it, in case Max wakes. Little kisses on the lips, the neck, soft ones that linger.

Justin breathes out his mouth, rubs his palm against Brian’s cheek. Sighs. Climbs on top of Brian and lies there, lips moving and head tilting as he kisses. Brian slides his arms up the back of Justin’s shirt.

They move to the bathroom because they find themselves growing hard from the gentle movements that come with making out, with embracing. Groins pressing together every few seconds as they shift, go for a new angle, as Justin adjusts his position on top of Brian.

Brian sits on the closed lid of the toilet seat and Justin straddles his waist. Kisses him hard, feverishly, nails leaving white marks on his shoulders.

Justin rides him once they’re naked. Rides him raw, slow, wetly, gently. Brian exhales loudly, grips Justin’s waist, comes inside him to the pulse, pulse, pulse of Justin’s shaking-squeezing-tensing-relaxing body.

They rest there afterward, exhausted and sweaty. Brian rubs his hands across the small of Justin’s back and loves him like hell.

Sex is different now that it’s twenty years since the beginning. Not as frequent due to responsibility, not as fast, not as rough. There’s more staring, more kissing, more time afterward spent like this.

The orgasms are better. Brian doesn’t understand why, but they are. Maybe it’s the slow build, maybe it’s the kissing, maybe it’s the sex four times a week instead of nine. They’re good, they’re long, they make him shake. He feels them in his belly and legs.

Justin captures Brian’s face in his hands and kisses his nose.

~*~

When Brian and Justin decide to get married, it’s two o’clock and they’re back in bed.

Max is stretched out on his back, out from under the covers because it’s hot in the room. His forehead is sweaty and he’s snoring ever so softly.

“You want to marry me?” Brian asks against the hollow of Justin’s throat. Quietly. Arm wrapping around his slim waist.

It’s not a surprise, really. Not like you’d think. Justin isn’t shocked, he isn’t nervous, he isn’t worried about pod people.

He’s ready.

A sleepy “yeah” is all Justin says after a brief moment of silence, scooting closer and sliding one of his legs between Brian’s.

“Yeah?” Brian whispers back.

“Yeah.”

And they don’t make plans that night, they don’t talk about dates, they don’t discuss weddings versus a visit to the courthouse. They don’t talk about it at all.

They just kiss twice in the darkness and fall asleep sharing a pillow.

Because when Brian and Justin decide to get married, it’s natural. They’re ready and it’s right, and there’s no bomb to scare them, no pressure to alter them, no thoughts of pleasing another, no chances taken. There’s eight years of a manor out in the Pennsylvania countryside, there’s three years of a little boy in striped pajamas, there’s ten years of monogamy, there’s twenty years of love.

In the morning they’ll have sex in the shower while Max is still asleep. Brian will go to work, Justin will go to work, Max will go to the babysitter’s self-dressed in his monkey outfit and Superman cape. And that night Brian and Justin will finally sit down over beer and French fries and talk about it.

“We’re getting married, huh?” Justin will say, sucking salt off his finger.

Brian will smile, almost shy, and drain his beer. Max will come running into the kitchen with a chocolate stain down the front of his white shirt.

“I gots chockit!” He’ll yell, pointing at the smear over the monkey graphic.

And as Brian helps Max take off his shirt and wipes his face with a wet paper towel, he’ll ask what Max thinks about the whole marriage thing.

Max will rub his nose with the back of his hand and say, “My dinos gots mellweed and gots little babies.”

That’ll be all there is to it.

Justin will walk up behind Brian, kiss the back of his neck, and smile.

It’ll be happy and calm and quiet. Intimate.

It’ll be one of those moments where somebody ought to take a picture.

Somebody ought to capture that happiness and bottle it.


End file.
